Jaded
by Shattered Halo
Summary: Hwoarang & Ling. An odd couple, maybe, but this story is worth it. Give it a look and please review. :)
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

Well, it's not like it was the end of the world. He'd lost fights before, after all.

Hang on…

Okay. So this – this _loss_ (the word tasted bitter in his mouth and he had to force himself to even _think_ it) – was his first. Still. No big deal. The world went on.

Only it didn't _feel_ like it was no big deal. In fact, the last seven – no eight – months (or was it nine? He'd lost track) had made Hwoarang feel like it was a _very_ big deal.

Hours of contemplation had turned into days of reflection as he replayed the fight over and over and over again. He analysed every move and went over every defence, but no matter how many times he thought about it, how many different scenarios and angles he worked into it, he came away with the same conclusion: It was _not_ his fault.

His tactic had been perfect. His timing unfaultable. His execution flawless. Jin Kazama should have been – at the very least – in a hospital bed by the time Hwoarang had finished with him.

Only he wasn't.

And no matter how hard he tried, Hwoarang could not fathom how Jin had actually _won_ the fight, let alone _survived_.

It was almost as if the young fighter had access to some sort of (and Hwoarang almost laughed, it was so ridiculous) _supernatural_ strength.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't help him the next time Hwoarang ran into him.

Nothing would.

And with renewed determination, Hwoarang kicked at his punching bag.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

If there was one thing Hwoarang hated other than Jin Kazama, (and he _hated_ Jin Kazama), it was rich kids.

Hwoarang himself had grown up on the streets. He made his own luck, forged his own life and worked for – okay, well, maybe it wasn't technically _working_ – his own money.

Therefore, it was only natural he should have an adamant dislike of everyone who was born with a silver spoon shoved up their – erm – mouth.

Rich kids, in his experience, got everything.

He grabbed the tabloid magazine from the news stand and started walking away, pausing only slightly to flash his blade at the overweight stall attendant who asked him what the hell he thought he was doing.

He sat down on a street curb, not too far away, and flipped open the magazine. Page six.

And there it was.

**New Heir to the Mishima Corporation.**

Well. He should have known. Of _course_ Jin Kazama had to be a rich kid. He was the fucking poster boy for everything Hwoarang hated in the world; why _shouldn't_ he be rich? And as the grandson of Heihachi Mishima, the most powerful megalomaniac in the world, he was more than just rich. He was fucking _loaded_.

Hwoarang hated him more than ever.

He threw the magazine into the gutter and reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette when a discarded flyer caught his eye.

**The King of the Iron Fist Tournament 3.**

Hwoarang leaned over and picked it up, quickly reading the details.

He smiled, got up, and threw away his unlit cigarette.

He was going to bring that boy down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The Mishima facilities were breathtaking.

Hwoarang didn't often give out compliments – especially not to anything that was, in any way, related to Jin Kazama – but, by God, the training facilities…the state of the art gym…the fighting arenas…

Just another thing that reminded him of what the youngest Mishima had – and what he, no matter what he did, could never even dream of achieving.

He had arrived early that morning, dressed in black and dark grey, his hair pulled back and his sunglasses on.

He drew a lot of glances from the female population, but he was too tensed to notice. All he could think of was a fight from almost a year ago, and the young man he had promised himself to take down.

He walked on, "protected" by Mishima guards he could outfight with his eyes closed.

His meeting with the contestants passed by in a blur; he listened and observed but he never joined in. A brightly dressed Chinese girl – who at first glance, looked about twelve years old – asked him something, but he only smiled and turned his attention to the arguing set of twins.

After waiting a minute for his answer, she gave up, and faded back into the crowd. He felt something akin relief – he had never been a very sociable person.

He might have ignored her, but he didn't stop watching her. He didn't _want_ to watch her, but something drew his eyes to her.

He mentally compared her to the other women in the room. They were all splendid to look at – trim and taunt bodies matched with beautiful faces – but there was something – something different – about this girl.

It took him a moment to place what it was. She was happy, he realised. The breezy, carefree sort of happy that came from youth and naivety and something else he couldn't quite place yet. Hope, maybe?

The mystery solved, he turned his eyes away from her and looked at a fairly average-looking man with a mask hanging by his side. The dreaded King, he thought. Personally, he'd be ashamed if he needed a magic mask just to get into the Tournament.

Just as Hwoarang was wondering how much longer this forced social intercourse could last, the devil himself walked into the elaborately decorated banquet room.

Jin Kazama.

Again – for what felt like the thousandth time that year – Hwoarang felt his blood boil. Seeing him – in person, not just in his head – was much worse. His body tensed and his fists curled, but his face remained impassive, unchanged. Baek had taught him well.

He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the same brightly dressed Chinese girl squealed and engulfed the newcomer in a hug. Kazama laughed and bent his head to kiss the girl on the cheek.

Unknowingly, Hwoarang clenched his jaw.

Before he knew it, he had placed his untouched drink on the table and was making his way towards the happy couple.

A small voice in the back of his head tried to stop him. Act cool, it said. Remember Baek's teachings. Hwoarang ignored it as he faced off with his rival.

Jin Kazama, he noted, was looking at him with a mixture of bafflement and curiosity – almost as if he didn't know who he was. Typical, Hwoarang thought disgustingly, that the sheltered little rich boy can't even remember him. Well, he wasn't going to make a fool of himself by admitting _he_ remembered _him_.

He broke eye contact with the older man and looked down at the girl he had brushed off earlier.

'Tae Kwon Do,' he replied, a long delayed answer to her previous question. He offered her his hand. 'And I'm Hwoarang.'


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

She had noticed him earlier that morning, and she thought he looked like a large cat – a cougar, perhaps – dark, lithe and powerful.

She didn't know why she couldn't keep her eyes off him. Yes, he was easy on the eyes but so was every other fighter in the room – even the blonde American with big hair, and he was _old_.

She grinned wryly as she saw her friend, Jin Kazama, walk into the room. Well, she always _had_ been attracted to the strong, silent and brooding type.

Not that there was anything between them now.

Which was good. They were better off as friends.

She ran over to him, her happiness at seeing a familiar face bubbling over and engulfing him. He couldn't help but laugh; her enthusiasm was contagious.

'How have you been?' she asked as they drew back from their embrace. He grimaced and opened his mouth to answer but then nodded his head to something behind her.

She turned around, and she might have heard Jin murmur softly that he'd tell her later, but her attention was now completely elsewhere.

It was him. The cougar.

The one who had ignored her earlier and was ignoring her now as he entered into a staring contest with Jin.

Abruptly, he turned, looked at her and answered her question from almost half and hour ago. He held out his hand as he introduced himself, and Ling thought she could almost – _almost_ – see the faint traces of a smile on his face.

She had never been the type of person to hold onto grievances, so she overlooked his previous snub and gave him a sunny smile.

'Hello.'

Her voice, Hwoarang thought, had not the twittering shrillness he had expected from someone who looked like her.

'I'm Ling. Ling Xiaoyu.' She paused, and he didn't say anything, so she continued. 'I'm pleased to meet you.'

It was a soft voice, understated, and she spoke with a slight lisp that Hwoarang found rather endearing. His mouth curved into a smile before he could stop himself. 'The pleasure's all mine.'

She watched him for a second longer, and he watched her watching him and though they were both standing still, he felt like something was drawing them closer together.

He studied, in that brief second, her brown eyes and spiky lashes, her button-like nose and her generous mouth. Yes, it was a very pretty face.

'You!' Jin Kazama had finally recognised the red-haired youth, and both Hwoarang and Ling tore their eyes from each other, the moment broken.

'Me.' Hwoarang replied. His blood, cooled down by a pretty pair of eyes, began to heat up again.

'Huh?' Ling was confused. They knew each other?

'You were good, that time,' Jin said, rather graciously.

Hwoarang was not moved. 'Not good enough.'

'Well.' Jin seemed at a loss for words in face of such brazen hostility. 'I'm sure you'll be an asset for the tournament.'

'I didn't come here to be an asset,' Hwoarang replied.

Jin studied him. 'No,' he acquiesced finally. 'I didn't think you did.'

Hwoarang remained silent. Ling looked from one man to the other. She could almost feel the hate radiating from the red-haired Korean, and Jin – well, Jin looked like the burden on his shoulders had just gotten heavier.

'You two know each other?' she asked, trying to cool the atmosphere down.

Hwoarang said nothing and Jin tore his eyes away to look at his ex-girlfriend – also his very best friend in the world. 'We fought, once.'

'You won,' Hwoarang stated, giving the appearance of calm.

'It was a draw,' Jin corrected, 'and you were very good.'

'Still,' Hwoarang stated, 'not good enough.'

'We've had this conversation before,' Jin stated, trying – failing – to keep things light.

'So,' Ling interjected. 'I'm thirsty. Does anyone feel like a drink? Juice?'

Both men ignored her attempts at peace as they kept up their staring contest.

'Oh, so macho,' Ling grumbled under her breath and blushed when Hwoarang broke eye contact with Jin to look at her.

He gave her a faint smile, and like the last time he smiled at her, she stared, mesmerised. She took in his red hair, pulled back though strands still fell into his eyes. His eyes, a warm caramel, and his strong nose. His bow shaped lips and the smooth line of his chin.

And before she knew it, he was walking away.

She was shaken out of her reverie by Jin tugging at her arm.

'Come,' he said softly. 'I have much to tell you.'

'But – the people – you haven't met –'

'I came to talk to you, Ling. I'll meet and greet later.' She knew she would go with him, and hear his story, but something made her want to delay their inevitable exit.

'Are you sure?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said, and taking her arm, steered her towards the doors. 'I have much to tell you.'


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

It occurred to him, when he was at the bar and ordering a non-alcoholic fruit punch, that this was the first time he had gotten a drink for a girl.

He was used to women chasing after him, and in truth, he preferred it that way. It made things easier, and it was a sure fire way to prevent rejection.

They were always beautiful, the women that he'd been with, but he'd never stayed with one, exclusively, for more than a short time. Beauty dimmed after a few encounters, and he never cared enough to get to know any of them past their body.

He grabbed the drink and turned around, almost knocking over a dreadlocked Jamaican in his hurry to go back to Ling and make Jin feel just a little more uncomfortable. Surely he hadn't missed the connection between his enemy and his girlfriend?

He sidestepped a samurai and then stopped, suddenly, as he saw two people, arm in arm and looking very cosy indeed, making their way to the exit.

Jin and Ling.

His anger, quelled a little by the young Chinese girl's looks and smiles and eyes, started up again, full force.

He honestly didn't know why he felt surprised at their exit. It's not like he _knew_ her – or she him. Why _would_ she stay and talk?

Regardless, he made his way to the doors, still holding onto her drink lightly. He wasn't chasing after them, he reasoned, he was just leaving this boring-as-hell-getting-to-know-the-competitors-they-really-are-just-like-you-bullshit.

But just as he was about to step out, a Mishima guard – coming, seemingly, from nowhere – blocked his way. He said something, in a slightly threatening undertone, about the reception not being over yet.

Hwoarang stared at him and then asked why the couple before him had been allowed to leave. The masked man reddened and muttered something about the Mishima men.

Well, of course. Of course Jin Kazama would get to go where he chose, when he chose and with whom he chose. He was Jin fucking Kazama after all.

Hwoarang briefly contemplated knocking out the guard and leaving anyway, but then figured now was not the time to make a scene.

He returned to the bar and swapped the punch for a double shot of gin and tonic, topped with vodka. He might as well drink up if he was forced to stay.

He found his mind wondering back to Ling, to her shining eyes and pink cheeks as she stared at him. He immediately stopped his train of thought and went back to the bar to top up his glass. A copious amount of alcohol just might – maybe – let him forget about her pigtailed hair and –

'Another one,' he snapped at bartender, trying to interrupt his own thoughts. He could not – he _would_ not – allow any distractions in this tournament. He had a goal – he had to bring down the barstard who messed up his life – and he would not let anything – _anyone_ – get in his way.


	6. Chapter 6

_A big thank-you to all my reviewers, as this is my first entry into fanfiction world. I've been an avid reader for god knows how long, and decided it was time I try and write. A special mention to:_

_**Kitera-n-Lil: **for reviewing EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER! Yay! And please continue!_

_**BrideOnFire: **for being my longest reviewer. Also love your retelling of Sleeping Beauty on FictionPress._

_**PinkForever: **for having a totally cool user name._

_And now…_

**CHAPTER 6**

It was night – no, early morning – and Hwoarang, try as he might, just could not get to sleep.

His head was starting to throb – perhaps he shouldn't have drunk so much? – and he was getting sick and tired of seeing a certain pair of almond shaped eyes every time his eyelids closed.

It wouldn't be so bad, if only his mind didn't insist on zooming out of Ling's face to see Jin's arms around her waist, his head on top of hers, and his face silently taunting him.

He just couldn't take it anymore.

He untangled the sheets from his body and kicked them off the bed. His hand groped his bedside table for the lamp switch and instead knocked over a glass of water.

The coldness was refreshing and he stumbled out of bed. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well do something useful.

Minutes later, shirtless and still in his pyjama pants, he was at the gym.

He tried practicing his technique but he couldn't concentrate properly and he messed it up so often that he felt like he did years and years ago, when Baek had first taken him in and he realised that he didn't actually know anything about Tae Kwon Do, let alone proper fighting.

He stopped, sweat-drenched, and flicked his hair back into his headband. His eyes flicked around the large room and fell on the rowing machine at the corner. Strenuous, yet mindless. Perfect.

He didn't know how long he spent there, counting his strokes like most counted sheep at that time of night. He stopped, not tired but bored, and wiped at his face with a towel.

And that's when he saw them.

They were sparring in the appropriately named sparring room, and he watched them, unseen, through the glass walls.

He observed Kazama's Mishima-style attacks – all balance and power, and found himself wanting, again, to destroy his pretty-boy face.

For the first time, he saw Ling fight and reminded himself not to be fooled by her China-doll looks. The girl was lethal. She ducked and weaved and cart-wheeled and flipped and Hwoarang was reminded of a dancer as he watched her.

And then, after he'd scrutinised both of their fighting styles, he studied how they interacted – how Jin held back his kicks and punches just so, how Ling rushed to his side when one of her own attacks were successful. How they held onto each other and giggled as a particular move landed them both on the floor. How they smiled and talked and laughed together even as they fought.

His reverie was interrupted by someone else entering the gym and he immediately busied himself with the rowing machine again, glad that the walls of the sparring room seemed like mirrors from the inside. How long had he standing there, just looking? An hour? More?

He shook his head. So much for not allowing any distractions.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

She had always been a generous girl, and her heart went out to Jin.

Hearing about his – his _changes_, for lack of a better word – was awful. She pitied him, and what he went through, and he let her, because she was the only person that he'd allow to pity him.

'It happens when – when I'm angry,' he admitted, almost sheepishly. 'Not just angry, but,' he paused, searching for the right word, 'apoplectic. When there's hurt and madness, and I'm blinded by it all – it – it just takes over.'

'You know the solution, don't you?' she asked. 'Count to ten. Find your inner peace. Don't let yourself become so enraged.'

He nodded, then sighed. 'It's not always possible, with my life.' And then, in a voice significantly lower, 'with my family.'

She had nothing to say to that, and it was not in her nature to deny the truth, so she did what she always did: provide a happier distraction.

'I've learnt some new moves,' she said. 'D'you want to spar?'

He laughed and shook his head. 'I'd kill you,' he teased.

'Probably,' she agreed easily. 'But I'd at least give you a black eye.'

They hadn't quite made their way to the gym when a messenger hurried up to Jin with something from his grandfather, something that required his 'urgent, private attention'.

Jin looked at her and she saw the heaviness in his eyes and she kissed his cheek goodbye and told him that she'd go to sleep, but to come in and wake her up when he was done, no matter what god-awful time that would be, because she really, really wanted to spar. He laughed and agreed and went away, looking just a tiny bit happier.

She hadn't gone straight up to her room though, because once Jin was gone, and she didn't have the distraction of his fudged up life (she didn't like to swear and fudge sounded so much better and tastier anyway), all she could think about was a certain red-haired Korean she had met not two hours ago.

She made her way back up to the introductory party, feeling, for some reason, very nervous. Like a little girl making her way to the adults table.

She entered the room for the second time that evening, and like before, her eyes were immediately caught by a head full of flaming hair.

Only this time, he wasn't alone.

There was a blonde leaning all over him. Nina, she remembered; a cold, hard woman who gave her the shivers. Her breasts were almost spilling out of her black top and her legs, long and lean, looked even longer and leaner in her four-inch heels. Ling self-consciously glanced down at her own black patent flats, and then back at the scene ten metres away.

He placed a hand on her hip and Ling decided she had seen enough, and whirling around, took two steps to exit the room again. Her back was turned as Hwoarang gently, but firmly, pushed Nina out of his way, and went back to the bar for another drink.

She didn't even register the Mishima guard who – miracle of miracles – let her leave, even though this time, she wasn't attached to Jin. She didn't even know _why_ she was so upset. She didn't _know_ him. He certainly didn't even _remember_ her. So what was the problem?

There was no problem, she told herself firmly, as she went back to her room. She would forget about him – not that there was a 'him' – and she would go to sleep just like she had told Jin.

But no matter how hard she tried to forget; how many times she remembered him and then reminded herself to forget him, she just couldn't do it. His face lingered stubbornly in her mind, and she fell asleep only to dream of him.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

He'd woken her up, like she knew he would, in the god-awful hours of early morning, just past midnight. She grumbled and hit him with a pillow for disturbing her dream about a beautiful redhead in a never-ending amusement park, but he persisted and threatened her with cold water, and she finally acquiesced.

She was glad she did, because she really did have to get her mind off him. She was thinking about him _subconsciously_ for God's sake. It was getting out of control, and she hadn't even had a proper conversation with him yet.

They went to the gym together, and just when she had started to stop thinking about him, there he was.

He was using the rowing machine, and Ling found it hard to drag her eyes away from him. If she had thought he was good-looking before, that was nothing to how he looked shirtless and sweating.

She stared at him for a good few seconds, but he was apparently lost in his own world and didn't even notice the newcomers to the gym.

'Ling?' Jin prodded. She blushed and turned back to her friend, who raised his eyebrows but, thank god, said nothing. How could she explain her inexplicable attraction to a man who seemed to hate her best friend for the petty reason of not being able to beat him in a fight?

She followed Jin to the sparring room, and was able to stop herself from turning around to look at him one more time. Though it was such a small thing, she felt proud of herself for resisting, and her mood brightened as she prepared to spar.

They sparred for what felt like hours, and she, for the first time since she had met him, found her mind completely occupied by something else. She hoped that their play-fight was just as distracting to Jin as well.

He certainly seemed a lot more relaxed, telling her an anecdote that involved his grandfather's pet and her own, and she found it amusing that Kuma was heartbroken over her dear Panda.

She wished, briefly, that they could hold onto such carefree moments as these.

Just as she had warmed up, and was ready for some real fighting, another messenger from Heihachi interrupted. She was annoyed at the disruption, but it seemed to sadden Jin even more than her, so she kept a bright face and told him to get to whatever it was he had to do.

She stood awkwardly in place for a minute after he'd left and then reached for a towel to wipe herself down.

She didn't see Hwoarang enter the room.

He stood, watching her for a few seconds, wondering why it was he was standing there, when his mind had expressly told his body to leave her alone.

'You're very good, you know,' he said, announcing his presence.

She froze and turned her head towards him, and then abruptly started wiping her face again, just to hide her blush.

'You were watching?' she questioned softly.

'For a short while,' he lied.

She was trying desperately to think of something cool and sophisticated to say, but her thoughts were drowned out by her rapidly increasing – and not from the exercise – heartbeat, which echoed loudly in her ears.

'What's your method?' he asked, wanting to break the silence. How could one little girl make him so damn awkward?

'It's – it's a hybrid between Hakke Sho and Hikka Ken.' She wondered if he was really interested or just making conversation.

'The ancient art of Chinese assassination.' He grinned at her. 'Nice.'

She couldn't help but smile back at him, though shyly, and his grin widened, and before he knew what he was doing he had asked her to get a drink.

She looked around the room – as though the mirrors held a hidden answer – and then nodded her agreement and they walked, side by side in an easy silence to the nearby open-all-night cafe.

She ordered a fruit juice and he a Berocca, sheepishly admitting that he might have had too much to drink at the party.

She laughed and asked if anything interesting had happened, holding her breath and steeling herself for her eventual disappointment when he mentioned Nina.

'Well,' he started, 'I met you.'

She wouldn't allow herself to be flattered though, and she brushed aside the compliment and mentioned that Nina was a very pretty lady.

He looked confused for a second and then recovered. 'She's one of the twins, right? The brunette?'

Secretly, she felt elated, but she berated him out loud for not remembering who she was. Her secret joy made her reckless, and she flirted a little. 'Seriously, apart from me, do you remember _anyone_?'

'Of course,' he replied lightly. 'Kazama was there as well.'

She realised that she had touched a sore spot and was about to change the subject when she reminded herself that it was _he_ who had brought up Jin's name.

'Ah, yes,' she said. 'What on earth is going on between you two?'

He was silent for a minute and then shrugged and told her he just wanted to beat him.

'It's not _just_ that,' she said, and he agreed but he wouldn't tell her anymore and she took it as a cue to change the subject.

'Your parents must be proud,' she said, 'to have you in the Tournament.'

'Perhaps,' he said, 'but I don't know them. I grew up on the streets,' he added at her questioning look.

'Oh,' she said, and mentally kicked herself for bringing it up. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' he replied, looking down at her hand that was now covering his. He felt oddly better. 'My boys – my gang – they're my family.'

'Well, you _do_ have people who care.'

'Yeah,' he paused, lost in memories. 'They were great.' She noticed the past tense and was about to comment, but a waitress brought over their drinks. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at Hwoarang, and Ling was glad that he took no notice.

'Tell me about you,' he said, abruptly changing the subject.

Ling, all of sudden, was overcome by shyness again.

She took a sip of her drink and, not meeting his eyes, asked in a voice no louder than a whisper what he wanted to know.

He bit back the insane desire to say 'everything' and stared at her evading his gaze. 'Tell me – tell me why you're here.'

'Why I'm here?' she repeated blankly.

'This tournament,' he elaborated. 'What are you fighting for?'

'Well,' she paused, 'You'll think it's silly.'

'Will I?'

'Yes,' she said, firmly.

'Tell me anyway,' he coaxed.

She glanced at him to refuse, but that was her mistake. She found herself unable to look away, and willing to tell him just about anything.

'Don't laugh,' she warned him. And then – 'I want to build an amusement park.'

He laughed, and even though she expected it, and even though the laughter wasn't cruel or mocking but genuinely amused, she felt a little disappointed.

It was as if he sensed her change in mood; he stopped quite suddenly and apologised and asked her why an amusement park. She hesitated before giving her answer.

'When people are at an amusement park – it's like –' she broke off, wondering how to put her thoughts into words. 'Everyone who's there is at their – not happiest but – they're at there most carefree. And that's exactly what this world – China, especially – needs.'

He stared, awed at this tiny girl in front of him. Just how much goodness could one person have?

Unnerved by his silence, she let out a self-depreciating laugh. 'It sounds silly, I know. Jin thinks so too.' She continued, wanting desperately to lighten the mood. 'See? You two _do_ have something in common.'

He ignored her last comment and waited for her to make eye contact again, but she was busy wringing her hands – a nervous habit from when she was a child – and no matter how much he silently willed her to, she just wouldn't look up.

He leaned over and tilted her chin up gently, lost for a second in her warm eyes. 'I don't think it's silly,' he said, truthfully. 'It's hopeful.'

She couldn't resist smiling at him, and as ever, he couldn't resist returning it. He pulled his hand away from her face, his head swarming with the smooth, silky feel of her skin.

They sat together in companiable silence and he couldn't keep his eyes – or mind – off her. He studied her hair, held up in pigtails again by yellow baubles, and her shirt, with its pink panda and yellow sunflowers.

He found her adorable, like no other girl he had ever been attracted to.

She ordered another drink – concentrated red cordial, for extra kick, she explained – and he was once again struck by her innocence.

With a sinking feeling he realised just how good she was – far too sweet and pure for someone as jaded as him. If, by some miracle of the gods, she broke it off with Kazama, and they got together, he'd drag her down into his world. A world filled with thugs and gambling and gang fights, and though her fighting ability would make her an asset, she deserved better.

She deserved someone who, like her, was full of goodness. Who could make her smile and laugh and feel at ease. Who could give her a life where she never had to wring her hands again. Who had it all, and who could give all of it to her.

He bit his tongue as he realised she deserved someone just like Jin Kazama.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

He really _was_ a good fighter, Xiaoyu mused as she studied him pulverise the gigantic robot.

It was only the early, preliminary rounds, but the crowd was still large.

She wasn't in the front rows, reserved for the fighters and families, but with Jin, in the Mishima top box. They were watching the red haired wonder on a ridiculously large screen which magnified him and Gun Jack to twice their real size.

'He's better than I remember,' Jin said beside her, and she answered with a non-committed 'Hmmm.' She was far too distracted for proper conversation.

Jin drew his eyes away from the fight and to his friend. 'Xiaoyu –'

She didn't even notice, biting her lip as one of Gun Jack's punches hit home.

He studied her, studying the fight (studying the fight_er_), and he desperately wanted to ask her a question but then thought better of it and went to refill his drink.

He was back a minute later, and he just couldn't hold it back.

'Xiaoyu, do you like Hwoarang?'

She was startled out of distraction, and she turned towards her friend. Try as she might, she couldn't quell the sudden reddening of her cheeks and neck.

'What? Why do you say that? Of course not!' Her voice, even to her, sounded oddly high and strangled.

Jin looked at her, unconvinced.

She took a deep, calming breath and composed herself. '_No_.' There. That sounded believable.

'Really,' he stated, wryly, and she looked away, readying herself to lie again.

He, however – having dated her briefly and knowing her better than anyone else in the world – knew exactly what she was up to.

'Don't lie to me,' he warned. 'I deserve better than that.'

She bit her lip and then, suddenly – 'I can't _help_ it! It's not like I _want_ to! There's – there's just something about him. I'm sorry.'

He laughed then, and gently told her she didn't have to apologise.

She looked bewildered and said she thought they were enemies, and he looked back at the screen for a few moments.

'I may be _his_ enemy,' he replied softly. 'But he's not mine.' Xiaoyu had no answer to that and so she turned towards the fight again. The silence between them was uncomfortable, and she knew Jin desperately wanted to give her his two cents worth.

She couldn't handle it any longer.

'Well,' she said, turning towards him, 'what is it? You're _dying_ to say something.'

He stared at her for a minute and then observed that she knew him too well

'And _you're_ avoiding the question,' she admonished.

He grinned wryly. 'It's just – don't you think – you can do better?'

'Better?' she repeated, confused.

'He fights well, granted,' Jin explained, 'but just _look_ at him.'

'I am,' she answered, 'as is every other female watching the fight.'

'No,' he shook his head, 'I mean, look past his looks, all right? He's a street kid. No, a street _thug_. He has no kind of future. And I know you're bad at maths, Xiaoyu, but after school, you're going to do something worthwhile with your life. As opposed to him with his street fights gambling and god knows what else.'

He paused and she didn't have anything to say to that, so he tried again. 'You and him – you're not matched. Don't you deserve better than a good-looking no-hoper?'

The slur to Hwoarang caused something to snap inside of her and she lost her cool.

'No-hoper? _No-hoper_? I may not know him,_ Jin_,' she emphasised his name like it was some sort of insult, 'but you certainly don't either. So just – just shut up about it, okay? Forget you asked me anything, forget I admitted to anything and just – just let it go!'

She stormed away to the snack table, not really hungry but just wanting to walk away from her ex-boyfriend. Funny how whenever she got angry with him, he turned into 'ex-boyfriend', instead of 'friend'.

Jin looked at her stomping away (not really stomping – she was far too light-footed for that) and, on reflection, admitted he had been a little harsh. And he didn't want to alienate the one person in the world he could really talk to, or knew and sympathised with his problems, so he went over and apologised.

She forgave him immediately and gave him a hug and her traditional sunny smile.

They watched the rest of the fight – Hwoarang won easily – and when it finished, she mentioned she'd like to go down and congratulate him.

Jin nodded but didn't offer to accompany her so she turned around to leave.

'Xiaoyu?' he called her back.

'Yes?'

'About Hwoarang…' he trailed off and she gave him a warning glare. 'If he hurts you, I'll kick his arse.'

'And if he doesn't?' she smiled.

'Well,' he admitted, 'I'll probably kick it anyway.'

She laughed and walked down the stairs. Towards the arena. Towards Hwoarang.


	10. Author's Note: should I go on?

Hi everyone!

Yes, I know, I haven't updated in a year. I've been travelling through Sri Lanka helping with post-tsunami relief. It's been a really rewarding experience, but really tough – especially because I lost some of my family – so posting fanfic moved to the bottom of my priority list.

Saying this, I am back in civilisation again, and have rediscovered everything I left behind, including this story.

I don't know whether to continue – mainly because it's been so long and I think everyone's probably lost interest by now – so could you guys please let me know if you want me to go on?

Thanks so much.


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